


Inamorato

by enjolras_lexa



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Senses, Sensuality, Showers, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-19 09:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolras_lexa/pseuds/enjolras_lexa
Summary: Inamorato: male sweetheart or lover, one who is loved.Alternate title: oh dear I need to borrow your shower whatever shall I do





	1. Chapter 1

As a demon, it was a given that a single drop of holy water could kill Crowley, but as a demon inhabiting a human corporation, it was also a given that a drop of cold water could do the same.

Crowley hated the cold. There were not adequate words to describe how much he hated the cold. He generally took to being cold as well as a polar bear would take to getting a beach house. Cold weather typically saw the demon drinking something hot and alcoholic, buried under thirty blankets in the warmth of either his flat or Aziraphale’s bookshop (generally the bookshop because it was cozier). He nearly always dressed in layers, and carried an umbrella at all times in case of rain (which he loathed passionately). He loved laying in the sun like the combination of cat and snake in a man’s body that he was.

Crowley naturally favoured hot showers and baths, and while his human body couldn’t take scalding water like he would prefer, he hated any temperature of water that approached being tepid, never mind actually cold. So when his shower unexpectedly went from lovely-and-warm to icy-freezing-bloody-cold in the space of a second, Crowley was not a happy demon. Not in the slightest.

“Shit shit fucking fuck shit fuck shit!”

He fiddled with the taps for a moment, but only succeeded in sousing himself further with freezing water before admitting defeat. 

He swore again, wrapped himself in his cozy red tartan dressing gown and his hair in a fluffy white towel and disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

**** 

“ _Aziraphale_!” Crowley shouted, stamping about the little flat above the angel’s bookshop. “Angel! Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale’s footfalls came halfway up the stairs haltingly, and paused on the landing. “Crowley? Is that you?” Az called.

“Of course it’s me! Who else would it be?” the demon asked irritatedly.

“Well what are you doing here?”

Crowley swore again, not bothering to lower his voice. “Just come upstairs will you?”

The footsteps drew closer, until the front door opened and Az came in. Crowley watched Az’s face flicker from surprised to intrigued, with some sort of emotion underneath that he couldn’t identify, as the angel took in the picture of the sodden demon in his sitting room.

“Crowley- _oh_. Good Lord.”

Az’s eyes glanced up and down Crowley’s frame, making the demon slightly self-conscious. He knew he wasn’t exactly looking his best. He unwrapped the towel from around his head and squeezed the wet out of his long auburn hair, trying to get it somewhat orderly again. “Can I use your shower? Mine’s being a bitch today for some reason, can’t get any hot water.”

“Miracle it better?” Az suggested.

Crowley made a face. “Tried that already, it wasn’t having it.”

It was like with the Bentley, that kind of machinery didn’t take kindly to being zapped into functionality by a demon with fuck-all knowledge of how any of it worked or fit together and who just generally didn’t know shit about cars. Imagination was a fine thing, but it tended to not work so well as a long-term solution. He’d have to call a proper human fix-it person to get his shower back in working order. What were they called? Pumbles? Plumbers! That was it.

Now Az made a face, less a scrunched-nose affair and more of a that-silly-old-thing-how-on-Earth-does-he-manage annoyingly self-righteous variety. “Meaning you’ve miracled yourself an endless supply of hot water much too often and now you’ve finally broken the bloody thing. It was only a matter of time.” 

“Look, skip the sermon. Can I use yours or not, angel?”

“Go ahead, you know where it is,” Az gestured vaguely in the direction of the bathroom, eyeing Crowley again with an odd expression. “I’ll be downstairs in the shop.”

Crowley gave a careless wave behind him as he made for the bathroom. “Ta.”

He flung off his robe and towel and stepped into the glass shower, after a moment of figuring out how it worked (there was always that trouble in a strange shower) turning the dial to maximum heat and sighing contentedly as steam slowly filled the room. He’d realized just then that he’d forgotten to bring clothes in his rush to be warm again, but he figured he could just zap himself back home to get dressed.

He borrowed Az’s shampoo and shower gel that smelled of vanilla and spices and Aziraphale, some sort of special clean-angel smell that he found distinctly comforting.

Of course, he generally associated Az himself with comfort, something that was reflected in the way his body wash intermingled with the masculine scent of his deodorant and aftershave. Crowley usually just tried to be subtle as he inhaled Az’s scent whenever he saw him, but now he could take it in properly without embarrassing himself. 

He groaned again as the hot water soaked his hair and body, making his skin tingle with the heat just on the edge of being unbearable.

It was a very pleasant shower, he decided. Very pleasant indeed.

**** 

Aziraphale was having a very confusing and difficult time of it, and it was entirely Crowley’s fault.

The demon had just appeared uninvited into Az’s flat, leaving big wet footprints on the nice clean floor. If that wasn’t enough, he’d been wearing next to nothing. The angel had barely been able to get a hold of himself, watching that dressing gown reveal glimpses of leg and chest and shoulder whenever Crowley moved, and when he’d let out his hair-

Az couldn’t seem to curb his infatuation on a normal day, but being confronted with the very thing you can’t have in any state of undress was much more than the angel could handle.

However, it was about to get worse: he’d forgotten his reading spectacles in the bathroom.

He stamped up the staircase petulantly. _I am an adult_ , he told himself firmly. _I can get my glasses from within a room where Crowley is naked._ _It isn’t a big deal._

He wondered disinterestedly if there was a dog-years type of conversion between immortal beings and humans where despite being thousands of years old he was really the emotional equivalent of seventeen. It certainly would explain a lot.

He paused outside the bathroom, then rapped his knuckles against the door firmly. 

“Crowley?”

“What, angel?” the demon’s voice came from inside.

“I’ve forgotten my glasses, can you pass them to me?”

The second he asked the question he knew it was a bad idea. Crowley opening the door holding out spectacles, with perhaps only a towel around him at most- nope. Bad idea. Az had no wish to see that.

Fortunately they seemed to be on the same wavelength. “I’m all comfortable in here angel, just come in and get them yourself.”

“Are you sure?”

Az could practically hear the eye-roll.

“It’s only a corporate form, angel, don’t be such a prude.”

“Fine!”

Az cautiously opened the bathroom door, instantly feeling the oppressive heat engulf him. “It’s _boiling_ in here.”

“I’ll switch on the fan before I leave, don’t worry,” Crowley replied impatiently. 

Az began looking for his glasses, rummaging in the drawers of the little bathroom organizer he had and examining the counter, but it wasn’t easy to concentrate. Crowley was making this sated purring noise, like a contented cat, followed by a louder groan that was far too much for the angel to handle. Az chanced a glance in the direction of the sound, and instantly regretted it. Even through the steam that fogged up the glass walls, Crowley’s form was still visible in beautiful semi-obscene glimpses. Az felt his mouth go dry and ripped his eyes away.

“Got them!” He snatched up the spectacles triumphantly and shoved them in his pocket, turning to go.

“I’m coming out!” Crowley warned him.

“I’m leaving, don’t worry.”

And Az had nearly made it out the door when he heard the shower get turned off, followed by a loud thud and a bout of swearing. 

“ _Crowley_!” Aziraphale rushed back and opened the shower door as thoughts of ‘Crowley isn’t wearing anything at all’ were replaced sickeningly with ‘Crowley slipped and could be hurt and bleeding out’.

He found the demon sprawled on the floor of the shower, prodding the back of his own head cautiously and grimacing. Az knelt to assess the damage, tenderly probing the area with his fingertip before cradling Crowley’s skull in his hand completely.

“I’m fine, angel,” Crowley said softly.

“Just let me heal it,” Az insisted, “It was a big smack right on the back of your head, look, there’s a bump.”

He concentrated for a moment, letting warmth flow from his fingertips into Crowley and healing his head, taking away the pain and making it disappear like a bad dream. “There, all better.”

“Thank you angel. Er, could you move your hand?”

Az let go of Crowley’s head, before looking down and understanding fully what the demon had meant.

Az’s other hand had been resting on Crowley’s upper thigh and stroking it soothingly without him realizing it, and was now much too high. Dangerously close to a certain part of Crowley that was starting to react-

Az snatched his hand away as though he’d been burned, although the damage was done. He’d seen everything.

He met Crowley’s eyes for a second. They were uncharacteristically unguarded, and Az was beginning to understand why Crowley wore those sunglasses all the time. His eyes were so expressive, betraying every little emotion for the angel to read. He looked vulnerable.

“Sorry, I’m very sorry,” Az muttered sincerely, starting to scramble to his feet, but Crowley took his hand and yanked him back down again.

“S’alright angel.”

Az was trapped again by those eyes, holding him in place as he tried to fight all his instincts telling him ‘too fast, too soon, laugh it off, run away’, as his own eyes hungrily took Crowley in and sent obscene messages to his brain.

All of a sudden they were kissing, and it was hard to tell who had initiated it but now it was definitely happening. Lots of kissing was going on. More kissing certainly than had ever taken place in this particular bathroom before.

Mouths were touching and so were tongues, and hands were pawing and cupping and stroking, and moans were starting to be heard, first quietly and then steadily louder and more enthusiastic.

After a few minutes Az’s clothes were flung out of the shower and the hot water started up again. Outside, a pleasantly cool rain began to fall, and the roses in the garden in front of Az’s shop burst into bloom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to know what happened next. This did.

In the weeks following what would come to be known as “The Shower Incident” (by Crowley) and “Our Anniversary Of Getting Together As A Couple” (by Aziraphale), Crowley began taking quite a few more showers at Aziraphale’s flat above the bookshop than he had done previously. Sometimes he even had company.

Either way, it followed from there that he was spending much more time just in general at Az’s flat than he used to do, and less time in his own. Once he’d forgotten to water his plants for over a week.

When he’d remembered and gone over most of them had already died, and he’d just rescued the survivors and left the weak to become so much terrified compost. (It was the first, and only time he’d ever spoken to the plants in that kind, softly reverent tone usually reserved for Aziraphale. Wasn’t their fault this time after all.) So now the angel had not only a demon in his apartment but five or six sickly potted plants slowly being nursed back to health.

Another time the thing he’d broken in his shower with too many miracles happened again in Aziraphale’s and they had to call for help fixing it. It had taken nine hours, and three flummoxed plumbers. (“It’s like it doesn’t want to run cold water at all”)

Crowley did miss his street sometimes though. It was very neat and orderly, and only occasionally blocked up with traffic. He liked to see his demonic energy at work, after all, even though it was a nuisance for him sometimes too. Most of all, the air was one-hundred-percent-pollen-free. Crowley got terrible allergies, and the flower boxes on every corner of Az’s street made them even worse. He seemed to be allergic to nearly everything that grew out of the ground. (One day they’d been having a nice stroll, and Crowley had stopped abruptly to threaten a large flowering plant that looked on the verge of tears by the time he’d finished. “ _Really_ , dear,” Aziraphale had said. “Wasn’t that a bit harsh?” Crowley gave a derisive snort. It came out a bit mucous-y. “If that plant goes up my nose I’m coming back to burn it with petrol.”).

Another tic of being around Aziraphale more was his habit of eating. More precisely, his habit of finishing off ‘the old stuff’ before opening a new one or going grocery shopping. (“Have a horrible cookie.” “Open the new ones!” “Go on, have a horrible cookie!”) Crowley had never quickly used up milk that was about to go off. He’d never seen the inside of a grocery store in his life, except to arrange it so the thing you brought up to the check-out always ended up having a different price and costing more than the tag on the display said it did. He’d also had a hand in the long lines, the difficulty returning things you didn’t want, and the children from various charities and volunteer groups that packed your bags and always put all the heavy stuff together in one bag with the bananas on the bottom. Aziraphale had had a hand in reusable shopping bags, membership cards, and pretty displays. (Crowley had countered it with spam-emails from said memberships and fragile stuff that fell over. The one broken egg in every carton was one of Ligur’s).

Crowley had left most of the rest of his stuff at his own flat after the plant incident (except the Mona Lisa sketch), miracling over silk pyjamas and sharp outfits to materialize in Aziraphale’s antique wardrobe as needed. It was ages before Aziraphale pointed out to him that what he was doing could be described in human terms as ‘moving in together’.

“Crowley,” the angel had begun one night, flicking on the lamp unexpectedly, “What would you call this?”

The demon had sleepily rolled over in bed to look at him, expecting him to be holding aloft some sort of strange insect that needed his classification, but greeted instead by an expectant look on the angel’s face. It took a moment for Crowley to understand, and even then he wasn’t sure if he’d grasped what the angel had meant. After all, six thousand years in, the ‘where do you see this relationship going’ talk seemed a bit unnecessary.

“What do you mean, angel?”

Az sighed impatiently. “This! Us! Sleeping in the same bed together! My wardrobe full of your stuff!”

“S’not full, don’t exaggerate.”

Az glared at him. Crowley thought for a moment. “Alright, I have clothes here. Isn’t a big deal, I do go home sometimes.”

“No you don’t!” Aziraphale sat up in bed completely. Crowley quietly resigned himself to not getting any sleep tonight (and not for the fun reason). “You don’t go ‘home’, that’s the point! You haven't been in ages! You killed thirty-something plants by dehydration!”

“Didn’t mean to,” Crowley said guiltily. “Anyhow I can go home anytime you like. Don’t want to be a bother, if you think I’m imposing.”

“No! Of course you aren’t!” Aziraphale seemed to get exponentially more frustrated by the minute. “You’re ridiculous! You haven’t even noticed you don’t live at your flat anymore. That’s my blasted point! We’ve moved in together and you haven’t even noticed!”

Crowley blinked. “Oh.” He thought for a moment. “Zira?”

“What?!”

“Would you like to move in together?”

Aziraphale looked like might either laugh or burst into tears (similarly, also as though he might either murder Crowley or kiss him senseless). “Yes,” he said instead. “I think I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought! ❤️


End file.
